


now i know what love is for

by masonjars



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Praise Kink, college au but it's vague, embarrassed shuichi bc thats the good shit, mainly just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22236682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masonjars/pseuds/masonjars
Summary: "He listens, and Rantaro pulls him into his lap, his body warm and soft and smelling like expensive cologne, foreign and clean. He runs his hand down Shuichi’s back, gentle strokes, and Shuichi lets himself relax into him, laying his head on Rantaro’s shoulder. It’s nice to not be Shuichi for a minute, to not be the busy criminal science major who spends most of his days craned over his laptop or scribbling notes—to just be here. Like Rantaro’s apartment could be the center of the world, even if it contains potentially cursed crystals. "short thing written for the lack of rantaro/shuichi content
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 228





	now i know what love is for

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this right after i finished v3 because i really liked this pairing and its basically just been sitting without an ending for months. i think this is sorta a rarepair so i thought fuck it ill like slightly edit this and post it, hence why it has a kinda abrupt ending
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy my garbage

It’s a cloudy day as he crosses the street to Rantaro’s towering apartment building, a scaling, expensive building in an equally expensive district. Autumn leaves pushed by cold wind skitter over the cobblestone sidewalk. Fancy districts like this don’t have cracked, uneven sidewalks like the ones around his apartment building, no bags of trash on the curbs or shitty frat houses hanging together with duct tape and stacked beer cans. The two coffees he’s holding offer some warmth as he pulls them closer to his chest: one vanilla and one black. The shop Rantaro likes is unbelievably posh and even more unbelievably expensive, but he always stops there anyway on his way to visit.

The apartment lobby is nice and warm and he thinks he can start feelings his toes again. He tries to keep his ogling to a minimum now that he’s been here multiple times, but his eyes still catch on the large chandelier hanging in the middle of the room. Its crystals catch the light and reflect onto the ceiling, casting hundreds of dazzling reflections. Sometimes he imagines it falling, the bits of glass scattering across the entire building. He punches in Rantaro’s floor number like clockwork into the elevator panel, watching the dim numbers go up and up and up. 

He knocks on the door and he can’t help himself from smiling when it swings open. Rantaro still has that effect on him. 

“You brought coffee?” Rantaro says. His hair is still damp and he’s wearing sweatpants, loose in the waist enough for Shuichi to see a sliver of his tan skin above the waist band. He takes his cup from Shuichi and says, “That’s so sweet.” He ruffles his hair, his skin warm against Shuichi’s. He can feel his cheeks heating up at the touch, embarrassing to be treated like Rantaro’s little brother. Part of him loves to be touched like this, to be coddled by Rantaro, to be praised for something so simple as bringing him his stupid expensive coffee.

“I thought you would like it.” He says, sheepishly, stepping past the threshold of the door.

“I like anything from you.” Rantaro says, taking a drink out of the coffee. It’s still a bit too hot and he scowls, closing the door behind Shuichi. Shuichi could probably buy him coffee from the cheaper shop and he wouldn’t complain, but part of him likes catering to Rantaro. Rantaro kisses him, a quick press of the lips, and then sits down on the couch, plush gray with way too many throw pillows. Rantaro’s apartment in general is decorated in excess, ‘artsy’ paintings on the walls, a overflowing bookcase, and a large globe Shuichi likes to spin for fun. Rantaro had recently gotten a new painting hung up to add to his collection, this one a cartoonish image of a cat with a pig‘s head. It hangs in solidarity on the wall with the painting Shuichi has summarized as: ‘random paint splotches but the splotches are all weirdly shaped because the artist put paint on his dick and pressed it to the canvas’, and the shadow box of crystals Rantaro says he found at a dig site but sealed away due to their powerful “energy”. Shuichi sits down next to him after stripping off his coat. 

“Hey?” Rantaro says, calling Shuichi’s attention to him, “Come here.” 

He listens, and Rantaro pulls him into his lap, his body warm and soft and smelling like expensive cologne, foreign and clean. He runs his hand down Shuichi’s back, gentle strokes, and Shuichi lets himself relax into him, laying his head on Rantaro’s shoulder. It’s nice to not be Shuichi for a minute, to not be the busy criminal science major who spends most of his days craned over his laptop or scribbling notes—to just be here. Like Rantaro’s apartment could be the center of the world, even if it contains potentially cursed crystals. 

He presses a kiss to Rantaro‘s neck, up by his jawline, and then moves downward, his low cut sweatshirt letting him access Rantaro’s tan skin. Rantaro moves his head to the side, making it easier for him. He doesn’t make moves to further things along, his hands still slowly stroking his back, and Shuichi feels an instant flush of embarrassment at himself getting hard from just this, from just being this close to him. 

“You’re already getting hard?” Rantaro notices, because of course he notices, but his voice holds no malice. 

“Feels nice,” he mumbles into Rantaro’s shoulder, feeling his face getting red. 

“I think it’s cute,” Rantaro says, one of his hands moving to rub over the top of his thigh, getting so close to where Shuichi wants him to be, “how easy you are for me.”

He burrows his face deeper into his shoulder, face hot. The hand rubbing his thigh gets dangerously close and he can’t help his hips from jerking forward, his body feeling like a livewire in Rantaro’s hand. 

Rantaro gently pulls his face out of hiding, pulling him into a kiss. His tongue tastes like his vanilla coffee, taking control of the kiss. He presses against his cock and Shuichi can’t help the noises he makes into Rantaro’s mouth, a pathetic whine. 

“You really are cute, you know.” Rantaro says when they part, and Shuichi wishes he had his hat to hide under. Rantaro’s hand cups his face, his thumb sweeping over Shuichi’s bottom lip. The skin is lightly calloused from years of tugging rope on boats, of scaling rocky hills for the fun of it. “I’ve seen a lot of people, so I can’t be lying.” 

“Why are you flattering me so much?” he says, and Rantaro moves his hand around so he’s squishing both of his cheeks, making his mouth purse like a fish.

“Because you need it sometimes,” he replies, and he drops his hand. The hand on his thigh moves to start stroking him over his jeans. Rantaro fumbles with the button and quickly unzips them, pulling Shuichi’s dick out over his boxers. He moves to hide his face again but Rantaro stops him, the metal of his rings cool against his hot skin. 

“Don’t hide your pretty face.” he murmurs, and his hand glides over his dick, slick with pre-cum, and it’s all so embarrassing. 

The drag of his hand starts getting drier and he holds it up to Shuichi, the tip of his index finger pressing against his lips. He lets Rantaro press the finger inside, the taste of himself and the dull metal of one of his rings mixing on his tongue. He presses it along his tongue, threatening the back of his throat, then pulls back.

“Do you think that’s wet enough?” Rantaro prods, and Shuichi starts gathering spit in his mouth. He spits it onto Rantaro’s palm, a line running down his wrist into his bracelets.

“Good boy.” 

The words spark arousal in his belly, low heat that sends shivers up his spine. The mixture of shame, that he gets off to his boyfriend babying him, and arousal from getting exactly what he wants. Rantaro’s hand glides easily now. He feels ashamed at himself for coming apart with just his hand, like a horny teenager, but Rantaro’s kissing him again and his mind can’t focus. He teases him right below the head, his precum smearing when Rantaro presses his thumb where he’s leaking. The sensitivity is almost too much, the melting feeling of pleasure making him pull away from the kiss to bury his face into Rantaro’s chest. His hips move on their own to fuck Rantaro’s fist, greedy and uncoordinated. 

“Please, I’m close,” he says into the fabric of Rantaro’s sweatshirt, sucking in hot air as he pathetically rocks his hips faster, “fuck, please.” 

“You can cum.” Rantaro says, and Shuichi can’t stop his mouth from babbling “thank you thank you thank you” as he cums all over his stomach and Rantaro’s painted nails. 

They sit in silence for a second, Shuichi catching his breath.

“What was all that for?” he finally says.

Rantaro shrugs, careful to not get the jizz hand on the couch. “You’ve been stressed lately.”

Shuichi smiles, and hugs him, a proper hug, while also avoiding the parts of their body that have semen on them. 


End file.
